


A Look At Five (Attempted) Invasions of Earth

by anstaar



Series: death’s champion (the line between good and evil) [1]
Category: Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Gen, always have a plan, maybe the real friends were the alien invasions along the way, never miss Jackie Tyler's tea, no party like a new year's party, the importance of a good alias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-03-20
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:49:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23231236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anstaar/pseuds/anstaar
Summary: why is it always New Year's?
Series: death’s champion (the line between good and evil) [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647238
Kudos: 11





	A Look At Five (Attempted) Invasions of Earth

**Author's Note:**

> because March used to be New Year's because the calendar lets you write holiday fic whenever

**[2000]**

Later, once it’s clear that it’s become a full-blown phenomenon, the Master decides it’s probably the Doctor’s fault. Technically the mess in 1737 happened ‘before’ all the Sturm und Drang with the Xoleans, the beryllium chip and the always makeshift TARDIS repair. But that’s only if you impose a false sequential model of time, and don’t know that most things are generally the Doctor’s fault. 

After the storms had died down and the last fire had been put out, they had gone out for coffee together. The Master doesn’t actually like coffee very much in this regeneration (it’s only his fourth and sixth bodies who had ever really loved the stuff, though he can never remember why), he like a nice Oolong tea, but he might have still been being a touch dramatic over the whole accent thing. Leaning into it had seemed the best way to avoid comments. 

“You look like you stole someone’s Halloween costume,” he tells the Doctor. Not that they were getting any strange looks for their clashing choices in clothing, not on January 1st, 2000, and definitely not in San Francisco.

“Their New Year’s Eve costume, actually. Great time for a party, much better than Halloween.” The Doctor adjusts his cravat, a man who was always pleased with himself. 

“You’re never going to take that off, are you?” The Master had said, gloomily. The Doctor might be showing more psychic influences than usual, but he’s not the only one who can make predictions. The Doctor grins at him. The Master usually likes it when the Doctor smiles at him, but even though it’s been a while, he tells himself it doesn’t make up for the outfit. “Just tell me that you won’t go around telling everyone you’re a Time Lord. I don’t need the association.” 

The Doctor scoffs. “Oh, as if Time Lords don’t wear far worse. I saw what you were wearing.” He smirks, which is all the worse because the Master knows that he had looked completely ridiculous.

“That was for _official_ business, you know Xoleans won’t listen to anyone who doesn’t have a crest. I don’t walk down the street in robes and a big collar.”

The Doctor laughs. Possibly at the mental image, or, possible, at the trick he’d just pulled off with a spoon. It had only been three days and the Doctor had already made it clear that he had _far_ too much fun with magic tricks. The Master has an even gloomier premonition that this might be his ‘thing’ this regeneration. The spoons and malapropisms had been bad, the lowkey psychic card reading and jelly baby juggling might be worse. Still better than sport. 

The Doctor leans over to hang the spoon on the Master’s nose. He only manages to get away with it because the Master hasn’t adjusted yet his new regeneration. It’s not that the last one wouldn’t have done the exact same thing, it’s just that the Master always hopes. The Doctor also left the Master to pay the bill and, it turned out after questioning the Doctor’s slightly shellshocked semi-accomplices, he _had_ been the one responsible for the Xoleans zeroing in on the Earth. 

A new year, a new body, but the Doctor is always something of a bastard.

* * *

**[2008]**

As a devastating war rages its way across, and through, time and space, the Master is in West London, hoping that Sarah Jane Smith won’t figure out who he is. 

There are no real boundaries in a Time War, no true ‘fronts’ that hold any meaning, despite the propaganda the War Council puts out. Not very well-done propaganda, it has to be said. The Time Lords aren’t winning any popularity contests, and the Daleks aren’t even in the running. If he thought it would prove any use, the Master would try to offer some advice. The war carves its way into the past of always been as much as it lingers in the what will be and makes its bloody way across the present. 

Still, the war is both all-consuming and yet, it is not everywhere. Nowhere is safe, yet the Master isn’t worried about turning a corner and finding Dalek commandos. Earth is a weapon waiting to be used, and none of the people in the moment of time know of the war they could all be sacrificed for. It’s a nice break from some of the stress of the war, even though he’s not sure if its even possible anymore to get rid of all of it, except for Sarah Jane. 

Sarah Jane herself isn’t the problem. The Master had clashed with the enthusiastic young journalist occasionally during his time with UNIT. They have different approached to what should or should not be published. But when they weren’t arguing over press releases, it had turned out she was a good friend to travel with. Sarah Jane is slightly older, as humans are, but she hasn’t lost any of her inquisitive attitude and spirit. 

Sarah Jane is just the sort of person you hope to be trapped with when aliens are invading Earth and you haven’t had time to finish your plan yet, instead of the three people asking stupid questions that the Master usually gets. Under other circumstances, he would’ve introduced himself happily by the first Cathedral (well, maybe after he figured out a bit more of what was going on, he does have a reputation), and they could have a nice chat about what’s going on in her life as they save the Earth. 

The only problem is that ‘Victor Masterson’ is currently having no trouble blending in with a group of First Formers. Yet again, he curses the Time Lords. 

‘A whole new regeneration cycle. To relieve our minds when you’re out facing dangers. Just for important operatives.’ Ha. 

This is worse than going his first body hoping he’d eventually end up taller than the Doctor. No one can be allowed to learn of what’s happened. Ever. Maybe it would be different in another regeneration, but he has a strong feeling that he’s ended up a true sense of sophisticated style this time, and he can just imagine how that would be undermined by ‘cute’ pictures of dressing up or the knowledge that he once wore a ‘Bubble Shock!’ t-shirt, even to save the planet from invasion. 

Luckily, there are galaxies where ‘small humanoid’ (embarrassingly, less dangerous than ‘small Gallifreyan-like’, they _really_ have to work on their PR, but at least the TARDIS’s are careful with translations) lacks the more annoying associations, but the Master likes Earth. And while the world is still suffering under the grasp of wild capitalism, at least he’s gotten some good discounts. 

He’s spent the day try to unobtrusively follow Sarah Jane. It should be easy as she’s technically offering kids a chance to learn about journalism/has some body shields all lined up for testing. Unfortunately, the Master might be the smallest bit competitive, and it’s rather hard to bite back all his comments, especially on the topic of a free and open press. It’s almost better when most of the other kids go into a zombie like state that he can copy. 

He thinks he should have some words for Sarah Jane about abandoning the group while she goes running after monsters, leaving it up to him to come up with a makeshift antidote with ingredients that can be found in a modern office block, and then mass produce to send across the world in the time it’ll take for her to come back. But when he gets near where Sarah Jane is talking quietly to a dark-haired girl who hadn’t been taken down with the rest, Sarah Jane’s new ‘son’ staring confusedly at everything, she gives him a far too knowing wink. 

The Master decides to save any lectures about reckless endangerment of minors for after he no longer looks like he’s one of them.

* * *

**[2005]**

In training to be a Time Agent, you’re taught a lot of extremely important, never to be broken rules. After you actually start working in the field as a Time Agent, you learn very quickly a whole new set of rules, and which of the ones the Agency tries to claim as laws are actually nonsense. If you leave the Agency altogether to become a rogue and eventually reformed (mostly) Time Criminal, your list shifts again. 

Jack, in his varied careers – those parts of them that he can remember – keeps a list of the most important rules. Don’t believe people who assure you that self-cleaning paradoxes are perfectly safe and efficient. Never stop to pick up your clothes. Know how to laugh at yourself. Learn to duck and run at the same time. Always take out the control chip of your spaceship. Don’t joke about ‘technology indistinguishable from magic’. And, of course, never miss Jackie Tyler’s New Year’s Tea. 

Jack has also learned a lot about timing of jokes, so he doesn’t say that clearly the aliens hadn’t realized that this last rule only applies to invited guests. Jackie is Not Pleased at the state her sandwiches are in after that transporter, and never shy about letting everyone know. Mickey is trying not to clutch his head. ‘Saxon’ is nodding in sympathetic agreement, even as he’s stuffing sandwiches into his mouth without regard to their distressed state. And Rose has squared up to their alien captors, looking even more belligerent than her mother.

“Mickey has that sword. It was a _gift_.” Rose folds her arms in a way that at least one alien knows is a warning sign, if the way he tries to shuffle a little behind Jackie is any indication. “Given to him ‘cause they wouldn’t give it to a _girl_.”

Jack restrains the urge to whistle between his teeth or shake his head in sympathy. This one clearly goes way back, and knowledgeable and experienced with different alien cultures Rose might be, now, but they’ve been taken by aliens who are threatening to destroy the people of London and she’s not holding back the power of a seven-year-old scorned.

Jack looks over at the Master again. Usually, at least in Jack’s not-so-limited experience, the Master would be putting some plan in motion to send them running. From the way the alien is slowly retreating, he’s not sure the Master is necessary. Possibly to step in to save the invaders if they keep digging themselves in deeper. But he seems to be enjoying himself. 

“It is most improper for any human to be granted such a boon,” the alien – well, it sounds rather like a mumble through the truly astonishing translating tech. “To grant it to a girl-child would be completely unimaginable.” 

“Unimaginable, is it?”

“Oi,” and Jackie has been distracted from sandwiches, now Jack takes a step back. “What are you saying about my Rose? If your Fydor or whatever Russian novelist you keep goin’ on about has no problem giving weapons to little kids, what do Mickey have that my Rose doesn’t? No offense, Mickey, love, but I do remember your gran complainin’ about all those scratch marks so I don’t see that you can say it’s about _responsibility_.” 

Jackie hadn’t been pleased to learn about Rose’s adventures through time and space, but no one can say she isn’t proud of her daughter. 

“I’m willin’ to give the sword back,” Mickey says, quietly, “I only took it ‘cause F’dzor looked about ready to stab himself with it if I didn’t.”

The Master shakes his head, patting Mickey’s shoulder. “I don’t think that would help. Why don’t you and Jack check on the engines, the virus should be spreading through the ships, and I want to be sure that we won’t be dropping out of the sky. I’ll go try to sort this out.”

Mickey shakes his head as the Master strides forward. “There goes a brave man. Or a very stupid one.”

Jack remembers that Jackie said something about her hair routine getting interrupted and decides not to weigh in on which.

* * *

**[2013]**

“Clara, you wonderful pigeon, budge up,” Missy shouts, as she emerges onto the top of the bus, umbrella in hand and ignoring all those shying away in fear. 

Clara considers the benefits of disappearing from her own life. Kate Stewart owes her. Just a _little_ ret-con… Her lips pull up in a smile. Her next thought involves wild adventures as a super-agent for UNIT, so maybe she’s not ready for a life of normality. Besides, she has grading. 

“Hello, Missy. Just happened to be out and about when you saw all these glowing golden bubbles and decided to take a tour?” She asks, not needing a cue. 

“Just so,” Missy says, grandly, sweeping into a seat by her, probably only mildly injuring a few other passengers. “You know what we humans are like, just can’t help ourselves from following shiny bubbles. It’s even worse when they’re the color of something we’ve assigned a completely arbitrary value to – now, during the Cyber Wars, that’s when ‘gold rush’ really meant something. No, as a human, just have to try to get my hands all over them, bring them into the house, put them on the dog’s collar, go chasing after when they start moving on their own – doesn’t matter that there’s been an alien invasion practically every New Year’s for ages now, clearly no connection to the very benign shimmery baubles.”

Clara manages not to laugh. Despite everything, she’s never regretted making friends with Coal Hill School’s most obvious alien – and there’s a bit of competition for that title. Coal Hill School just seems to attract t hem, for some reason. But then, so does New Year’s. The Doctor claims it’s just pattern recognition, with something no doubt insulting about human brains put in there, but Clara has learned to be extra wary when the Doctor makes a particularly airy claim. 

Except the one about how Missy used to be the one who was _good_ at blending in with humans. Mostly because Clara takes that comparatively, and ‘does the basics of her job’ is far more than she can imagine the Doctor coming close to managing. Missy is generally a good teacher, and Clara is pretty sure that she doesn’t even use the time machine to cheat about getting all the paperwork and planning sorted. She just enjoys that sort of thing. Her students certainly learn a lot, and they never say they can’t see how what they’re learning will be applied in real life. 

Clara has been told Missy’s ‘secret’, but in public, the extremely convincing human disguise is back. Clara can never decide if Missy should or really shouldn’t ever do drama. 

“So, what are we going to do?”

“We’re going to ride the bus. I would think that’s obvious, Clara. We’re on a bus right now, riding it, that is what we are doing. Can’t keep losing track of these things, people will think you’re strange, and you don’t have an umbrella to teach them a few manners.” 

“Do you think the Doctor’s involved?”

“When is he not? Except when there’s hard work or consequences or people’s birthdays? So quite often.”

It doesn’t look like this is one of the times where Missy feels like sharing her plans directly. Well, she’ll explain it all at the end. Might as well just enjoy the ride. And try to guess what sort of invasion plan is going on so she can pull out an answer before a dramatic declaration. That’s just good fun.

* * *

**[2017]**

“So, it’s aliens, right?” The girl says. “it’s always aliens on New Year’s.” 

The Master looks up at her from the gutter. It’s not a very good gutter for lying in dramatically, but sometimes there’s just no talking to the TARDIS, so he’s doing the best he can. It’s even harder to go about sulking in it properly when a girl in a nice jacket is offering him a hand up. Oh well. It _is_ New Year’s.”

“What’s the ‘it’ that’s alien this time?” He asks, taking the girl’s hand and standing up. “Nice jacket.”

“Thanks. It’s also kind of alien, but not the taking over a planet type,” She assures him. “My girlfriend bought if for me. Haven’t found it eatin’ anything yet, so could be a keeper.”

He studies the jacket. “It looks like it’s mood fabric from T’lizon Major. Just don’t pour hot chocolate on it.”

“Will it come to life and start eating everything?” She sounds slightly more intrigued than terrified of the prospect, that university students for you. Probably a university student. 

“No, the stain just never comes out. Something about the heat and chocolate. I lost a nice vest that way.”

“I’ll remember that, thanks.” They both pause a moment. “It’s the radio?”

“The radio.”

She nods, energetically. “Aliens, I think they took over the radio.”

The Master tries to remember what songs are big around this time period. “Those ads that sound almost indistinguishable from songs are a completely human thing, you can’t blame _everything_ on aliens. ‘Bro country’ is also purely human, I’m afraid. And that boy bands were all aliens, but it was just bad taste, not an invasion.”

She’s giving him a sort of sideways look. “I meant the static? Pretty sure the strange whispering about how ‘the world belongs to us’ in static isn’t normal.” 

“Is having a radio normal? Didn’t they get rid of those by 2217?”

She laughs. “It’s 2017.”

“Definitely thought they got rid of radio then.”

“Maybe it’s aliens.” 

He pauses again, “You don’t seem surprised by any part of this conversation, Ms. -?” 

“Bill Potts. An’ I saw you give that whole speech about protecting the Earth last year, didn’t I. Recognized you straight off. Why were you lying in the road?”

“Long night, Bill.”

“Ah.” She gives him a sympathetic look, which probably contains an unfortunately accurate guess of what he means by ‘long night’. “Well, how about looking at these aliens in my radio? Good to have a distraction –”

“You can call me O. And I think I’ll do just that, Bill Potts.”

* * *

**[A Long Time Ago]**

There’s no such thing as a Gallifreyan New Year’s. They technically have one because while the calendar might be something of a relic, Gallifrey likes to hold onto relics. But the idea of _celebrating_ the change between one calendar ‘year’ and another is totally antithetical to proper Time Lord principles. 

The two friends, hiding in a disused room in the depths of the Academy to avoid getting caught skipping class aren’t Time Lords yet, and they’d be offended at being called proper, but the idea of celebrating a near year wouldn’t occur to either of them. It’s rather too dreadful to contemplate. 

“We got out of there just in time. I think my brain is literally melting,” Theta says. “It’s like I looked upon one of those monsters from yours stories. 

“They’re not _my_ stories,” Koschei says, defensive, “And it’s not about _stories_. It’s serious historical research that has to be done by shifting through stories because most civilizations don’t have any conception of what they’ve come into contact with and so the only way they know how to represent it –”

Some days, maybe most days, even, Theta would wind his friend up further, but for one he raises his hands for peace instead. “I know, Kos. I believe you.” 

Koschei settles down easily, not trying to make anything of that ‘I believe you’ or any other defense. When it’s just the two of them, it’s still easy to let go of all hair trigger offense that comes with the weight of who and what they are, with all the eyes that say they’re not what they’re supposed to be. Right now, none of that matters, not when they’re free of all those eyes, even if they’re still inside the walls of the Academy. 

“We’re going to have a new president.”

“Another Prydonian president.”

“Not that it actually means anything.”

The boys sigh, as one. Meaningless politics, meaningless rituals, the endless passage of time with the occasional stark reminders of their looming futures. This is what they’re supposed to want: to rise in their Chapter, to hold a position on the high council, to even maybe be president – and never actually do anything real or meaningful with any of that ‘power’ at any point.”

“We’ll probably have to watch.”

“Is there anything more boring in the entire universe than watching an already boring ceremony as narrated by a boring commentator in a boring way?”

“Fat Head will love it.”

“Hm, you’re right. That’s sure to make it more boring.”

The boys lie on the ground, a purposeful attack on the dignity they’re supposed to carry even now. Neither of them speaks. The idea forms in both their heads, without needing words. It’s shared in the beating of their hearts. 

“It’s a celebration,” Theta says, voice already a practiced innocence.

“A special occasion,” Koschei agrees.

“What was that you told me about? All those primitive cultures that first learned to cultivate explosions to try to scare off monsters.” If _they_ could figure it out…

The fireworks are spectacular. The metaphorical fireworks that follow will be pretty impressive too, not that either of the friends will care. They’ll pretend, with varying levels of success, to listen to the lecture, both thinking of what they could do next. But that’s still to come, right now, they just stand together, watching the fireworks in awed delight. In the moment, the sound and color and newness of it all is even better than seeing the stately council in chaos. Though that’s the part they’ll watch over with glee later. It was better than even they expected, though neither of them will say that, either. They have too much pride for that. 

A little distance away, far better hidden than the children, a woman sits on top of a large box. Her fingers are still a little smudged from her small additions to the show. She doesn’t have to see the boys to know they’re far too enthralled to look around. She doesn’t have to get close to know that they’re happy to be sharing this with a friend. 

On Gallifrey, now, the election of a new president is about as meaningless as the turnover of the calendar on Earth. A completely meaningless date, purely an invention by whatever group has the power to impose some sort of measurement of time upon sections of the world. But there’s a joy in the celebration, a joy that won’t be lost, even after all the years spent trying to press it out of them. A joy that they’ll feel in the fleeting nature of celebrating a New Year, with the hope that it’ll be something new, not something that’s supposed to be the same as everything that came before it right back to when Rassilon ripped them out of time in the beginning.

“Happy New Year’s, old friend.”

**Author's Note:**

> some continuity notes, should hopefully work alone, but some stuff is mentioned in Mirror Matter or Mirrored Paths 
> 
> 2) the Master doesn't actually necessarily remember that time he looked like a kid for a century or so because the Time War is complicated, but Sarah Jane definitely does, 3) Rose & Mickey spent quite a bit of time traveling alone through space and time as kids in a rip off of the Magic Tree House, which was the Master's fault do to a complicated plan to get Yana back from the end of the universe, 4) Missy decided she wanted to be a teacher and spent her time doing so claiming to be extremely normal human, sensible people don't question it, 6) the Doctor is terrible with birthdays, but she's a sentimentalist in her own way


End file.
